


playing along

by earthtoyamaguchi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fake Dating, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, basically just a bunch of idiocy, im bad with tags but you get the gist, woohoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27980703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthtoyamaguchi/pseuds/earthtoyamaguchi
Summary: “We should date. But, like, not. Like dating, but fake.”“Fake dating?” Keiji asks, raising an eyebrow.“Exactly!”“Absolutely not, Bokuto.”“Why not? It’ll show Kenma and Kuroo that they can get together too! They won’t be scared anymore!” Bokuto exclaims.And Keiji would hate to agree with his logic, but it does kind of make sense.“Fine. But if this gets out of hand, or goes on for too long, I’m out.”“Deal.” Bokuto holds out his fist. Keiji bumps it with his own, sighing.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 16
Kudos: 148





	1. history homework

**Author's Note:**

> guess who’s back,,,and with a fake dating au no less,, 
> 
> there will be times where i don’t update for a while as a bunch of family stuff is goin on right now but hopefully that ends soon so i can actually use my free time.
> 
> enjoy!

Keiji pokes a chopstick at his macaroni and cheese. 

“You know you can just…look up the question, right?” Kenma asks beside him. He stirs his own bowl of pasta, looking at it thoughtfully. “Why do you make this stuff all the time, again?”

Keiji stares at the history homework in front of him. He’s been stumped on the last question for probably six minutes, and he hasn’t even thought to look it up _once_?

“Exchange program,” he tells Kenma, pulling out his phone to look up the answer to the question. When Keiji was around 13 he was an “exchange student” in America for a week. He didn’t go to school there, so the “student” part doesn’t quite make sense. His host family got him hooked on mac and cheese, and he’s been making it himself for the years since. Bokuto and Kuroo were particularly intrigued when he first introduced it to them. 

“Right. I remember,” Kenma takes a bite, and goes back to glaring at the game he was playing on his phone. 

Keiji finishes off the homework and places his computer on the other side of his bowl. 

“Now that that's over with—“ 

_Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock._

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” he groans. He only knows one person that knocks five times. Not that he isn’t happy to see that person, but he would’ve liked to catch a five second break in between the things he’s doing. “Wait here, Kozume.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me by my first name?” Unimpressed golden eyes peer up at him from over a black phone case. Keiji sighs. 

“Wait here, _Kenma_ .” He spins around to answer the door. He’s been told maybe fifty times in the past two years. He really only does it because it’s amusing to see Kenma annoyed. Maybe he’ll actually listen this time. Kenma _is_ easier to say. The door handle jiggles forcefully as Keiji attempts to unlock it. 

He retracts his hand for a moment. “Bokuto, would you let me open the door instead of trying to turn the handle when it is obviously locked?”

“Sure!” comes the muffled response. The jiggling stops. Keiji successfully unlocks the door and swings it open.

“I really hope you don’t do that with anyone else. They’d think they were getting robbed,” he mumbles, turning around yet again to get back to his chair. 

“Then they’d think I’m scary. And I am. I think I could pull off being a robber,” Bokuto says, way too proudly for the topic. 

“You certainly shouldn’t try.”

“What, are you saying I _couldn’t_ pull off being a robber?”

Keiji picks up his computer and walks into his room to put it on its charger. He’s followed by Bokuto and Kenma, who both sit on his bed. 

“You wouldn’t be a very stealthy one,” Keiji points out. 

“He’s right,” Kenma says. “Where’s Kuro?”

Keiji seats himself at his desk chair. 

“He’s getting his mail. One perk about all of us living in the same complex is that his mail isn’t far!” Bokuto claims, raising his index finger. 

Keiji squints. “Is that all you can think of?”

Bokuto looks at him innocently. “And I get to eat your cooking.”

Keiji continues to stare at him. 

“You know, I made a list when you first moved in, but it’s probably lost by now.” Bokuto looks around like he might find it in Keiji’s room.

“You made a list of the perks of living in a building with three other people around your age?”

“Yes!” Bokuto smiles. Keiji rolls his eyes. 

There is yet another knock at the door. 

“I’ll get it,” Kenma says. Both Keiji and Bokuto follow him with their eyes until he’s out of the bedroom door, then look at each other. 

“He wouldn’t get up for me, that’s for sure.” Bokuto frowns. “I don’t know why they don’t do something about their…thing.”

“You have such a way with words, Bokuto.”

“Shut up.”

“I get what you mean, though,” Keiji agrees, crossing his arms. “Sometimes I can’t tell if their closeness is because they’ve known each other for years or because they have a, as you put it, _thing_.”

“They act like a married couple.” Bokuto shivers, as if this is a horrible prospect. 

“Stop talking about us like we’re not here!” Kuroo yells, presumably from the kitchen. “Are you gonna finish this mac and cheese, Akaashi?”

“Have it!” Keiji calls back. He pushes himself out of his desk chair and saunters into the kitchen, Bokuto trailing after him.

Kuroo has migrated to the couch, and Kenma sits close to him, his back against Kuroo’s side. He doesn’t give any of them any attention. 

“Why are you two here, anyway? It’s five o’ clock on a Wednesday, I’m sure you have more important stuff to be doing,” Keiji notes. 

“That's exactly why we came. Our long and hard trek across the hall was to put off everything we have to do.” Kuroo raises a bag in his hand with the next statement. “Wanna play some board games?”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Thirty minutes into a game of Scrabble, Keiji gets a phone call. 

“Hello, Oikawa,” he says as he walks into the entryway.

“ _Hi Akaashi! Say, what did you get on the last question of the art history homework?_ ” Oikawa’s voice crackles over the phone.

“Why should I tell you, exactly?” Keiji picks at his nails, wedging his phone between his shoulder and his ear. 

“ _Because you love me soooooo much. Most people do. I deserve to take it easy on this fine Wednesday evening, not stress over art history._ ”

“That ‘most’ certainly doesn’t include me.” He tilts his head. “Have you forgotten that Google exists?”

There is a pause on the other end of the line. “ _Oh, Akaashi. You smart, smart man._ ” Oikawa sounds relieved. At least Keiji knows he’s not the only one who completely forgot about the internet. 

“I actually forgot too. It was Kenma who reminded me.”

“ _Really? You didn’t sit and rifle through all of your papers to find the answer and salvage your pride?_ ”

“Can you really be talking about pride, Oikawa?” Keiji switches his phone to his other ear.

“ _Your monotone manner is piercing, Akaashi._ ”

“Thank you, I try. Goodbye, now.”

“ _Bye-bye!_ ”

Keiji presses the end call button and closes his eyes for a moment. Oikawa is a constant pain in his ass. Being in the same course as him for two years proves them friends, and Keiji does value him as a person, but _damn_ if he isn’t annoying sometimes. 

“Was that the famous Oikawa Tooru?” Kuroo asks once Keiji sits back down to rejoin their scrabble game. 

“Who else?” he says. Kuroo is the only one out of Keiji’s closest friends that hasn’t met Oikawa. Keiji would like it to stay that way. Frankly, he’s afraid of what they could accomplish if put together. He shakes his head.

“Anyway.” He looks at the board in front of him. “‘Alot’ isn’t a word, Bokuto. If you have an E, try aloe.”

Bokuto looks at the letters he has, and holds one up triumphantly. “Oh! You’re smart, Akaashi!” 

Keiji wonders just how many times he can be told. 


	2. xp

“Okay, Okay.” Oikawa leans in. “Pablo _Piss_ -casso.” 

Keiji shakes his head, trying to keep a straight face. The students in front of them turn back to glare. Their professor just keeps talking.

“That was the worst one yet, Oikawa.”

“It’s clever, though, you gotta admit,” Oikawa lilts. The students glower. Keiji and Oikawa look away innocently. “Do you think she’s done blabbering yet?”

“Is she ever done blabbering?” Keiji asks.

“Good point.” Oikawa drags his eyes to the analog clock at the front of the lecture hall. He squints. 

“I can’t see,” he says. 

“Maybe you should put on your glasses, then,” Keiji points out. 

“Mm. You may be right, Akaashi.” Oikawa bends over sideways in his chair to get them out of his backpack. 

“I—“

“You always are, yes.” Oikawa straightens, holding his glasses in one hand. 

Keiji glares. “I was _going_ to say that I checked my phone, and we have a minute left of class.”

“Well, I can see now, so I don’t need you and your common sense.” Oikawa stares at the clock, pleased. He folds his hands. 

One of the students in front of them makes to turn around, probably to whisper furiously, but the professor’s alarm goes off, right on time. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“Maybe we should meddle,” Bokuto suggests. 

“Meddling is probably not a great idea.” Keiji doesn’t look up from the mandarin he’s peeling. 

“Maybe they’ve been dating this whole time and they just didn’t tell us.”

“Two years is an awful long time to not tell your friends something.”

“I guess. Ugh. I feel like I have to _do_ something. I mean, c’mon, they can’t just sit around and be all cute like that and not realize that they should be together.” 

They’re talking about Kenma and Kuroo, of course. Well, Akaashi was trying to do his homework, but Bokuto brought up the subject, so he gave up. 

“I’m sure they’ll figure it out themselves, Bokuto.”

Keiji flits his eyes up. Bokuto is staring at him with a deadpan expression. 

“It’s been years, Akaashi.” Bokuto tips his head back. “Plus, we’re in our third year of university! Being in school means doing fun and risky things! Like going to parties! And getting together with your best friend because there are obviously mutual feelings!” 

“Sure, but—“

“What’s holding them back?” Bokuto asks. 

Keiji tosses the orange peels. “Maybe they’re afraid something will change. They’ve known each other forever, right? Maybe they’re worried they’re sacrificing something sacrosanct.”

Bokuto hums. “What if we meddled indirectly?”

Keiji squints. “How would that work, exactly?” He seats himself across from Bokuto at the dining table, popping an orange piece into his mouth. 

“We should date! But, like, not. Like dating, but fake.” Bokuto motions wildly with his hands.

“Fake dating?” Keiji asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!”

“Absolutely not, Bokuto.”

“Why not? It’ll show Kenma and Kuroo that they can get together too! They won’t be scared anymore!” Bokuto exclaims.

And Keiji would hate to agree with his logic, but it does kind of make sense. He pauses, chewing thoughtfully.

“C’mon. Go along with me this once. You know you want to,” Bokuto says. 

“I don’t. Fine, though. But if this gets out of hand, or goes on for too long, I’m out.”

“Deal.” Bokuto holds out his fist. Keiji bumps it with his own, sighing. The worst that could happen is that they live out a cliché and end up _real_ dating. Somebody might ask them to prove themselves, but that’s just weird. Keiji doubts either will happen. The conditions he gave were vague, but they should cover all of the bases. 

Fake dating. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Wrong. He always knew he was a bad liar when it came to the big things, but _Jesus._

Bokuto texted him in class earlier, completely unnecessarily. 

_From: bokuto koutarou_

_8:37 AM - we’re dating!!!_

Of course, Oikawa, infamous for being nosy, took one look at Keiji’s phone on the desk, and said, “You got with bird brain?” 

Keiji raises an eyebrow. “...Yes.” 

Why did he have to hesitate? Why did Bokuto have to text him? Why did he have to put his phone within Oikawa’s eyesight?

_From: bokuto koutarou_

_8:37 AM - but fake (⌐■_■)_

“Ooooh. What’s up with that?” Oikawa leans in. Again, nosy.

Might as well. 

“...Kenma and Kuroo are scared of a relationship, or so we think. Bokuto suggested fake dating, to show them that they have nothing to worry about in terms of ruining friendships.”

Oikawa hums. “Pretty smart. Though it could end in a bit of disaster.”

“That’s reassuring, thank you.”

“I'm just saying. I know you spiral a lot with your overthinking, and I know you’ve probably thought this decision through very thoroughly, but just make sure it doesn’t get out of hand.”

“You talk like you have experience,” Keiji notes. 

“I won’t disclose that information.”

Keiji narrows his eyes. “You’re a pain.”

“Right back atcha, Akaashi-dearest!”

“Don’t call me that.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“We need to discuss how we’re going to explain this to Kenma and Kuroo. Currently, with us,” Keiji makes finger quotes, “dating, and after we decide to stop. How exactly will we tell them?” Keiji asks. 

“We can just—“

_Knock, knock._

“Quick, grab my hand!” Bokuto whisper-shouts. 

“Your hand?” Keiji whispers back. 

“Yes, my hand!”

Keiji does as he is told, and grabs Bokuto’s hand. He’s dragged to his own front door. Bokuto swings it open to reveal a hunched figure. 

“Hi, Kenma!” Bokuto says. It’s silent for a few moments. Bokuto squeezes Keiji’s hand, reminding him to speak. 

“Ow—,” he hisses. “Hi, Kenma.”

“Hi.” Kenma looks down. “Is there a reason you two are holding hands?”

“We wanted to talk to you about that, actually. Is Kuroo home?” Bokuto asks. 

“How should I know?” Kenma enters the apartment. “I just came to get my charger.”

“You would know because you two are attached at the hip,” Keiji says matter-of-factly. 

Kenma rolls his eyes. “We are not.”

Keiji raises an eyebrow. There’s no way Kenma legitimately believes that. 

“Sit down and wait,” Bokuto orders. Kenma squints, but listens, sitting down on the couch. 

Bokuto lets go of Keiji’s hand and runs to the entryway, presumably to go and knock on Kuroo’s door. 

Kenma turns his gaze to Keiji. “What’s up with that?” he asks.

Keiji shrugs. “If only I knew, Kenma.”

Bokuto slides back into the living room, now with Kuroo behind him. 

“Sit!” Bokuto instructs. 

Kuroo does so, confused. “What’s happening, exactly?” he asks. “I was making dinner and suddenly Owl Head over here is dragging me out the door.”

“We have something to say!” Bokuto says excitedly. He looks at Keiji. Keiji stares back. Bokuto raises his eyebrows. 

Oh.

“Uh, we. There’s been a…recent development,” Keiji starts.

“Yeah! We’re dating!” Bokuto grips Keiji’s hand again, shaking it for emphasis. 

Both Kenma and Kuroo’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment, just a moment, and they both nudge each other. 

“Woah— hey, what’s that about?” Bokuto pouts. Keiji scrunches his nose.

“Congrats,” Kenma deadpans. “We saw it coming, is all.”

Keiji lets out an intrigued hum. They’re not actually dating, so it’s a little weird that both Kuroo and Kenma “saw it coming” and also seemingly discussed it together. Do him and Bokuto really act like a couple?

Keiji supposes it doesn’t much matter anymore. In fact, if they do, it’ll come in handy. Acting like a couple more often than not means _being_ a couple, so people shouldn’t be suspicious of them, which is good. 

Perhaps he has nothing to worry about after all.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“That didn’t go well, right?” Keiji asks after Kenma and Kuroo have left.

“Mm? I think it went fine,” Bokuto says.

Keiji doesn’t quite know why, but the “saw it coming” still kind of bugs him.

“I guess,” he says. “I feel like we need more…time.”

“For what?” Bokuto tilts his head.

“I don’t know. Acting like a couple.”

“But Kenma said that the both of them saw it coming. That means they’ll believe us!”

Exactly Keiji’s train of thought. Still, it’s odd.

“Think about it like this.” Bokuto looks around, gathering his thoughts. “It’s like…XP! The more couple-y things we do around Kuroo and Kenma to show that a relationship is better than a tip toe-y friendship, the more XP points we get. And once we reach, like, one hundred, or something, we reach our objective, which is getting Kuroo and Kenma together!”

Keiji blinks. “I think you’ve been playing too many video games with Kenma.”

“Maybe! But I’m right, right?”

“Sure,” Keiji agrees. There are a lot of things he’s uncertain about, but Bokuto’s conviction more than makes up for Keiji’s doubt. 

Plus, it’s always been hard to say no to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno keiji that’s kinda gay


	3. ticking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took absolutely forever for absolutely no reason

The sound of the human heartbeat is said to be “reassuring.” Whether it be yours or someone else’s, the fact that the heart is still beating is altogether an objectively good thing. The repetitive sound is comforting. 

Keiji finds it unsettling. He much prefers the tick of a clock. Robotic, sure, but ever the more constant. 

He has two analog clocks in his apartment. One in the kitchen, which can be heard all throughout the living and dining room, and one in his room. There are virtually zero places you can stand where you can hear both clocks ticking at the same time, so it’s alright that they’re both a few seconds out of sync. 

Bokuto calls him odd for it. When they first met, around two years ago, when Keiji first moved in, Bokuto’s exact words were, “But can’t you just use your phone?” Keiji explained to him that he quite likes the ticking sound of analog clocks. He still gets teased occasionally about it. He doesn’t mind, not really. 

Of course, the thing that reminds him that he should’ve left for class five minutes ago instead of texting Bokuto is the ticking of the aforementioned clock in the kitchen. And Oikawa’s texts, but Keiji was ignoring those. 

He rushes out the door, grabbing his backpack and keys before slamming the door and locking it. It’s muscle memory, at this point. 

He presses the elevator button, just once, looking behind him when the sound of lazy footsteps fill his ears. 

“Aren’t you late for class?” Kenma asks. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be back in your cave at this hour?” Keiji fires back, nodding to the morning sun shining into the hallway. 

“Kuro told me to get the mail.” Kenma takes his phone out from his hoodie pocket, scrolling idly through some app. 

“And you listened?” Keiji asks. 

“Yes.” Something about his tone tells Keiji not to comment about it any more. The elevator door opens, and they both step in. 

“Wait, did his text really wake you up?”

“I was already at his place.”

“At eight AM?” 

“I slept there.” Kenma pauses, then shrugs. “Well, sleep is relative.” 

Keiji sighs. He’s been trying to coax Kenma into a somewhat reasonable sleep schedule for ages, but clearly his efforts have not paid off. 

“Why has Kuroo been checking the mail so often lately?”

“He’s expecting something. I don’t know what.”

Keiji hums. The elevator door opens into the lobby. 

“Alright, well. See you later.”

“Bye.” Kenma makes his way to mailboxes, and Keiji starts his walk to school. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“You ignored my texts.” Oikawa pouts. 

“Your texts are stupid,” Keiji says, putting his backpack next to him on the floor. He gets out his notebook, like the presentation in the front suggests. 

“Don’t be so rude. You know, when I walked in, Ms. Professor over there asked me where you were. ‘ _ Oh, Oikawa, where’s your friend Akaashi? He’s usually so punctual!’ _ She completely ignored that I was the one on time! What happened to dear old Tooru?” Oikawa asks, clearly disgruntled. 

Keiji stares at him. “I don’t think you were ever dear in her eyes.” He turns back to his notes. “Why does she even know my name?”

“Because apparently, grading your work is ‘simply delightful.’” Oikawa reservedly throws his hands up, so as not to draw attention. 

Keiji rests his head in his own hand, gaze tilted toward Oikawa. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t mock me.” Oikawa writes down what the professor is saying for a second, then leans back, rolling his pen between his index finger and thumb. “Say, how are you and Bokuto?”

“We’re fine.”

“Have you ruined your friendship yet?” 

Keiji rolls his eyes. “Be quiet.”

“Just say-ing,” Oikawa sing-songs. 

“Stop saying anything at all. And pay attention, you’re gonna need these notes on the exam.”

Oikawa starts writing aggressively in his notebook. “ _ Simply delightful _ ,” he mutters. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

There’s a bang in the kitchen. Keiji snatches his laptop off of his desk and pokes his head out of his bedroom door. The only light is the dark blue of the night sky coming through the window. The sun’s just set, so everything is cast in a cool wash of purple hues. 

“You okay there, Bokuto?”

“Of course!” comes a cheery voice from the dark. 

“Did you turn the lights off?” Keiji asks slowly, closing the bedroom door on his way out. He flips the switch on the wall, but the light does not turn on. 

“Nope!” 

“Hm. Power outage, I guess.” Keiji fishes his phone out of his back pocket, turning on the flashlight. “We haven’t had one in a while.”

“Well, it’s winter.”

Keiji raises an eyebrow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Bokuto’s silhouette shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe the cold changes something.”

Keiji shakes his head. He opens his laptop, just to clear through tabs of assignments that are already finished and articles that have already been read. The dim white light cuts through the purple shadows of the dining area, illuminating his hand as he drags his finger along the trackpad. 

Bokuto drapes his arms around Keiji’s shoulders, looking at the screen from behind his ear. His voice is just a breath away when he speaks, softly. “You know, we should watch a movie. It’ll probably take just the right amount of time until the lights come back on.”

It’s jarring, whenever Bokuto lowers his voice. It's something that seems so out of place, but that’s all the more intriguing because of it.

“Maybe so, Bokuto.” Keiji really doesn’t know when they got so close. Even in the first year or so of their friendship, they never really had a touchy-feely thing going on. He thinks, though, that in the past couple of days of their whole fake dating act, they’ve grown much more comfortable with each other. 

Keiji has noted a plethora of things that they hadn’t realized before. The fit of their hands when interlocked, the ever so slight height difference, just enough for Keiji to have to bend his knees when Bokuto hugs him from behind. He finds he doesn’t mind it. 

When the last tab is exited, he opens another one. 

“What movie do you want to watch?”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

They’ve settled, a little tangled, on the couch when there’s a knock on the door. He’s fairly sure it’s unlocked, so he calls, “Come in!”

Kuroo appears in the door frame. Keiji can really only tell that it’s Kuroo by the dim outline of his hair. “Hello, Lovebirds! The power is out, and we are bored, so we’re here! Are you guys watching a movie?”

Keiji nods, knowing that Kuroo can see him because of his open laptop. 

“Mind if we join?” Keiji knows that Kuroo is referring to Kenma, but he can’t see anybody else in the doorway. 

“Sure.” Keiji looks sideways at Bokuto, wondering why he hasn’t spoken, and sees him squinting at the doorway, probably trying to find Kenma in the darkness.

“Thanks,” Keiji hears Kenma say. 

“It’s like he’s a ghost,” Bokuto whispers. Keiji smirks. 

With blankets retrieved and chairs sat in, the four of them devote their attention the movie. It’s some old romance movie, cliché in the way that means you know exactly what both protagonists are going to say at any given time. 

Bokuto and Keiji have the same idea. Show off their “couple-y” things, as Bokuto put it, as much as possible to Kuroo and Kenma. They’ll see them and think,  _ oh, well, don’t we want that?  _ Even if, really, they already basically have it. To reference Bokuto’s XP metaphor, they’ll have reached this objective once they have enough practice being together. Because of Kenma’s sometimes lingering gazes, Keiji guesses they’re advancing in points quickly. 

Still, though, the weight of Bokuto’s arm around Keiji’s comes as a surprise. Or, perhaps not the action itself, but the fact that he’s so unbothered by it. 

It throws him off guard, maybe, that someone is as undeterred by his chill as Bokuto is. 

Of course, many people are, but none of them are quite like Bokuto. Take Kenma, who is undeterred by anything that doesn’t get in his way. Or Tsukishima, from his painting class, who “appreciates his cool, even if that cool is scathing at times.” 

All of them are just as perpetually indifferent as he is. Bokuto, on the other hand can be described as nothing but warm, perhaps even intense, though his straightforwardness is similar to Keiji’s own. 

He has a way of walking into a room and drawing attention to himself. Everything about him screams “ _ All eyes on me!” _ His proud stance, hair that stands just as tall as he does, bright eyes.

Eyes that are looking at him right now, sharp, but not unkind. “ _ Is this okay? _ ” they ask.

The clock ticks. “ _ How could I ever stop loving you?” _ the laptop says. 

Keiji leans his back into Bokuto, looking at Kuroo and Kenma all the while. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

By the time the lights come on, it’s nearly one AM, but the four of them are too deep in their dreams to notice. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“I wonder what they’re doing.” Bokuto zig-zags on his skateboard, going fairly slow to keep up with Keiji. 

“Why don’t we see?” Keiji suggests. 

“What, teleport to them? We’re not magic.”

“It would be cool if we could do that, but no, Bokuto, we can call them.”

“That’s smarter than teleporting.”

Keiji rings Kuroo, since he knows Kenma probably won’t answer. 

“Hey, Akaashi.”

“Hi, Kuroo. Bokuto is wondering what you’re currently doing.”

Bokuto nods, skating ahead for a second. Keiji keeps his pace. 

“We’re at the grocery store!” Keiji heard a murmur in the background, likely Kenma saying something. 

Bokuto slows for a moment to observe a line of ants on the sidewalk. 

“Together?” Keiji asks. 

“Yes.”

“Interesting, considering you live in different households with different refrigerators,” Keiji notes. 

“What’s he saying?” Bokuto demands, going back to zig-zagging. If anyone is behind them, Keiji feels bad. They’re going awfully slow. 

“He says they’re shopping.”

“For food?”

“For food.”

“For food,” Kuroo adds. Keiji can hear the perpetual smirk in his voice. 

“I don’t think that’s too weird,” Bokuto considers. “Seeing as we’re walking to the store right now.” He shivers.

“Why didn’t you put on a coat? It’s the middle of winter.” Keiji asks, nudging the side of the skateboard. “Also, you’re not walking.”

“Is there a reason you called? I don’t want to hear your flirting,” Kuroo claims. 

“How-? Okay, fine.” Keiji turns to Bokuto. “Did you want to do something with them, or did you just want to know?”

Bokuto shrugs, pushing forward. “Just wanted to know.”

“There’s your answer,” Keiji says. 

Kuroo hums. “Before I go, though, and I assume you’re out from the sound of Bokuto’s skateboard, did you see a package in the lobby?”

Keiji raises an eyebrow. “No, I didn’t.”

“Hm. Well then, see you later!”

“Bye.” They reach the crosswalk, and Keiji presses the button and steps back. Bokuto skates into his place, pressing the button another seven times. 

“Groceries together.” Bokuto taps his chin. “Kind of romantic.”

“Sure, Bokuto.” Keiji watches as Bokuto skates across the street. He picks the board up when he reaches the door of the convenience store, one they’ve frequented since they met. It’s only a few blocks from their apartment building, and definitely where Kenma gets his surplus of energy drinks. Keiji should really tell him to stop drinking those. 

When the bell on the door rings, signaling their arrival, Keiji knows that Bokuto will make a beeline for the candy. Keiji walks to the drink section to pick up some coffee. They’re really only here because it’s a Tuesday and Bokuto wanted chocolate. That’s usually the reason, though. 

“Say, Akaashi!” Keiji hears from the sweets aisle. “Do you think we’ve changed anything so far? It’s been…” He imagines Bokuto counting the days in his head. “four days?”

“I’m not sure.” He rounds the corner of the aisle, approaching a deliberating Bokuto. “Really, I think Kenma is the only one who seems jealous. I don’t know if he’ll ever admit it. I suppose we shouldn’t give up now, though.”

Bokuto picks a bag off of the shelf and makes for the cash register. “Well,  _ I _ suppose you’re right.”

When the bell on the door rings yet again, signaling their departure, Keiji is paying attention only to the way the afternoon sun brightens Bokuto’s already brilliant eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first paragraph sounds a little like a greys anatomy ep opening helpsnndf


	4. halo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been writing this chapter for three weeks and i have no idea how long it is at this point

The buttons on Kenma’s handheld click quietly. Kuroo plays with a thread on the end of Kenma’s sweatpants while scrolling on his phone. Keiji stares at them. Bokuto stares at Keiji. 

“Staring is rude, Bokuto,” he says mildly, distracted by the scene in front of him. 

Keiji sees Bokuto roll his eyes in his peripheral, but his focus is still on the two “friends” across from him. 

“You have your analyzing face on, Akaashi,” Kenma says. 

“Apologies,” Keiji replies slowly, squinting. 

Kuroo looks up, then. “Care to tell us just what you’re analyzing?” The Eternal Smirk makes its way onto his face. Keiji wrinkles his nose.

“You know exactly what I’m thinking, Kuroo.”

Kenma’s shoulders shake in silent laughter, though Keiji has no idea what he has to be laughing about. 

Crows caw, flying about outside Keiji’s living room window. Bokuto, surprisingly silent, shifts his weight on the couch. 

Keiji looks at him sideways. He has a look on his face, like he’s about to say something he shouldn’t. 

“What if I told you—“ he starts, but is cut off by Keiji lunging across the length between them to cover Bokuto’s mouth. 

“—I still have some leftovers from yesterday. Why don’t you come with me to grab them, Bokuto?” 

Bokuto mumbles a response, muffled by Keiji’s hand. Keiji pulls him into the kitchen. “I have a feeling I know exactly how you were going to end that sentence,” he whispers, as calm as ever. 

Bokuto looks away. “It’s hard not to say, in my defense.”

“Well, if you want this to work out, you’re gonna have to get over it.” 

“I know, I know.” 

“So…” Keiji waves his hand, opening the fridge to get the food. 

“ _ So _ , I won’t say anything. That is a secret. Because secrets are secret for a reason. Yeah.”

“Well said,” Keiji deadpans, pushing past Bokuto to get back to the living room. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

In the living room, Kuroo has migrated to the patch of floor beneath the chair that Kenma is sitting in. They both look up, raising their eyebrows when Keiji and Bokuto walk back in. 

“Whispering about us again?” Kuroo asks. 

“Not quite,” Keiji replies. “You’re not that famous of a subject in our conversations.” That’s a lie. Of course, they’re lying about a lot more than what they talk about, so Keiji lets it go. 

Kenma jumps at the food as soon as Keiji sets it down on the coffee table. Bokuto laughs. It’s loud, but it’s a nice sound. Keiji much prefers the soft ones, more breath than anything. Bokuto will close his eyes for a second whenever he laughs like that, his eyebrows relaxing. Keiji looks at him, bantering with Kuroo. Golden eyes meet his own, and he turns away. 

There’s something much too  _ seeing _ in those eyes. Something that suggests they know more than you would think. Keiji reaches for a pair of chopsticks, feeling like he should be hiding something. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“So,” Keiji tries. 

“So,” Kenma says lazily. 

“ _ So _ ,” Keiji emphasizes the “o” sound. 

“What do you want to know, Akaashi?”

“I want to know what’s holding you back.”

“You, currently, from me beating this level,” Kenma says, mashing the buttons on his computer harder. Keiji brings his eyes to the mess of dirty clothes on Kenma’s bedroom floor. He gets up, starting to place them in the laundry hamper in the corner. 

“With Kuroo,” he clarifies. 

“Your obsession with cleaning wherever you go is somewhat concerning,” Kenma hedges. 

Keiji glares, tossing a hot chocolate can into the trash bin. “Kenma.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me what’s up?”

“The ceiling, mostly.”

Keiji groans. “You’re impossible.”

“Oh, so I’m impossible, but your loud chunk of boyfriend isn’t?”

Jackpot. 

Keiji makes a so-so sound, folding his hands behind his back casually. “Never said that.”

Kenma huffs. 

“Are you, perhaps, jealous that I have a  _ loud chunk of boyfriend _ in the first place?”

“No,” Kenma says, too quickly. He pauses his game to sigh. 

“Everyone and their mothers can see what’s going on between you two,” Keiji says, blunt, but still as gentle as he can manage. 

“There’s nothing  _ going on between us _ . Friends. It’s simple?”

“It’s not. And you know it. I don’t really want to push, but if you stare at him with those fucking soft eyes one more time I might break someone’s neck.”

“Okay, well, if you’re so high and mighty in your happy relationship, how did either of you confess? You’re both clueless.” Kenma spins around in his chair and crosses his arms, then uncrosses them to reach for the energy drink on the corner of his desk. Keiji stares at him. 

“Have you had any water today? Or in the past week?” A pointless question, really. 

Kenma squints. “Don’t avoid my question.”

He wasn’t. He’ll take that response as a no, though. 

“He told me he liked me a little more than a month ago, except it was while I was sleeping, according to him.” They’ve gone over this story about five times to make it believable. “He only got up the courage to ask me out while I was actually conscious the day before we told you. And that went pretty well for him, if I do say so myself.”

Kenma looks at him for a second. “Gay.”

Keiji sighs. “Okay, Kenma. Is that the extent of what you gathered from that?”

“You mean to tell me I should suck it up, ask him out, get a happy ending, blah blah blah.”

“Precisely.”

“Absolutely not.”

Keiji sits on the bed and puts his head in his hands. “ _ Why _ ?” 

“Because I said so.” He downs the rest of the energy drink, then points to his bedside table where another one sits, unopened. “Hand me that.”

“No. You’re gonna drink some water, whether you like it or not.” He makes his way into the kitchen, silently applauding himself for at least getting Kenma to admit to what he feels. He’d say that’s a good amount of XP, considering the person he’s dealing with. He rounds the hallway corner, smiling. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

His art history class smells like donuts today. How such a small thing could fill up a room so big, Keiji doesn’t know. He brings it up to Oikawa when he sits down. 

“Well, Miss Professor over there has eaten three since I walked in.”

“Impressive.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing if given the opportunity.” Oikawa snickers at the thought, the hood of his teal sweatshirt falling off of his head. He’s never seen this particular sweatshirt before. The rain, still drizzling outside, has dotted a few spots on the shoulders darker. 

Keiji shrugs. “New sweater?” he asks, reaching for a pen. 

“Old. Used to be Iwaizumi’s.” Oikawa’s tone is curt when he says it, smile still on his face, but all mirth gone from his eyes. 

Keiji’s heard the name a few times, even gotten a “Hajime” once, which he assumes is Iwaizumi’s first name. Whenever he’s brought up, he’s not mentioned again. Keiji has only stopped to wonder a few times. Oikawa is a master at being open about nothing important, and incredibly guarded when it comes to the reality of his feelings. Keiji supposes he can’t really blame him. 

The professor starts up class, opening with a barely-trying-for-genuine remark about how much she missed them over the weekend. 

“How’s your fake dating spiel going?” Oikawa asks, placing his hands behind his head. He ends up just getting his pinky caught in the hood of his sweater, and fumbling to free it. Keiji shakes his head. 

“Isn't the word spiel used only for verbal things?”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

“Would it satisfy you if I said I’ve fallen madly in love with him and don’t know if I’ll ever love anyone else because,  _ oh _ , he’s just  _ so _ perfect?” Keiji says sarcastically. He doesn’t know how to feel about love and Bokuto in the same sentence. 

“Your face right now satisfies me. You look confused,” Oikawa says, amused. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk and his chin on his hands. “But what about?”

“Nothing,” Keiji replies genuinely. Right?

“Really doesn’t sound like nothing, but…” Oikawa doesn’t finish his sentence, just smiles smugly. 

“You’re-“

“Brown Hair and Blue Eyes in the back! Notes!”

Both of them are pulled to attention. Oikawa turns his chin up. “Your eyes aren’t even blue.”

“I’m honored you care so much,” Keiji deadpans.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

“It’s working,” Keiji says, looking up from his sketchbook. 

Bokuto spins around in Keiji’s desk chair. “Really?”

“Kind of.” 

Bokuto pouts.

“I had a talk with Kenma, and he’s still as guarded as ever, but I think I got a little something through his head.”

Getting up from the desk chair and moving to sit on Keiji’s bed beside him, Bokuto says, “Oh! Yeah, I talked with Kuroo, too! He seems to smug to be hardcore pining and I’m suspicious. If he doesn’t say something soon I will snoop,” 

“Snooping is probably ill-advised,” Keiji points out. 

“I was  _ joking _ .” Bokuto pauses, leaning onto Keiji’s shoulder backwards. At this angle, his hair, down for once, tickles Keiji’s neck. “Or so you think!” 

Keiji lets himself smile before pushing Bokuto off. Bokuto flops onto Keiji’s pillow, and Keiji can’t help but think that the way his hair is fanned around his head is awfully cute. The afternoon sun coming in through the window makes it look like a halo. 

He feels a need to touch. To hold. He directs his attention back to the pencil in his hand, drawing aimless circles on the paper. He revels in the scratchy sound before taking a breath and continuing the conversation. 

“The thing about it working is that I don’t know if it will work.”

Bokuto looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “That makes no sense, Akaashi.”

“What I mean to say is that we’re aiding only in egging them on. Given how stubborn they both are, encouraging them may only hold them back. I don’t know, though.”

“That’s smart. I think we should still try, though.” Keiji is given a bright and convivial smile along with the statement. It makes him irrationally irritated. Well, not quite, but he doesn’t have the energy to figure it out. He’ll go with irritated. 

The paper in front of him has turned into a mess of scribbles, but Keiji can make out a halo in every one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any typos and/or missing words are due to the fact that i barely read this over ☝️


	5. umbrella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ve had this written in my notes app since i started chapter two hello

Today is not Keiji’s day. He doesn’t know what he did in the past to deserve such an unlucky streak, but he doesn’t like it. First, he had survive his 8 AM class without Oikawa’s dumb snarky comments. (Keiji loves them, but he’d never admit it. Oikawa’s ego does not need feeding.) Then, it started to rain, and he had lent his umbrella to Bokuto just yesterday. And now, standing in front of his building, Keiji’s keys are not in his book bag. Or any of his pockets.

He rummages around in his coat one more time, just for good measure, but of course, he can’t find the keys. 

“Shit,” he says, more of an exasperated sigh than a spoken word. 

He could call Kenma or Kuroo or Bokuto or the manager to let him in, but his phone died an hour ago. He forgot to plug it in overnight. Plus, he’s pretty sure Kuroo and Bokuto are out, and Kenma rarely answers his phone. He could rely on the completely unreliable downstairs calling system to let guests in, and call up to Kenma’s apartment, but with how his day’s been going, he’s certain it’ll stop working just for him. It’s worth a try, at least.

He dials Kenma’s apartment number into the keypad. All he gets is crackly static. Because of course. He sighs again. He could go out to get dinner, but it’s cold, and he’s wet, and he doesn’t want to eat right now. He also does not want to wait until someone walks out of the building so he can get in, but it seems like that’s his best bet. He lets his head fall back with a groan, resigned to his fate, and he waits.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

His unfortunate luck lets up after around fifteen minutes of loitering in the rain. Even if it ends with someone he’s not too happy to be seeing. 

_ Not exactly unhappy,  _ Keiji thinks.  _ Just— _

“Akaashi? What are you doing out here without an umbrella? Actually, scratch that, what are you doing out here at all?” Bokuto walks up to the apartment building door, almost completely dry.

Keiji looks at Bokuto, then at his own umbrella in Bokuto’s hand, then back to Bokuto. He raises an eyebrow.

Bokuto blinks. “Oh! Yeah, I forgot to give it back last night,” he says sheepishly.

“At least one of us is dry.” Keiji mutters. He plucks his umbrella out of Bokuto’s grip.

_ Not exactly the right time, either.  _

“You didn’t answer my question,” Bokuto notes. He tilts his head. “You’re very wet.”

“What a shrewd observation, Bokuto.” 

“You’re just full of smart comments, huh?” Even though it is clearly a teasing insult, it doesn’t sound like one coming from Bokuto’s mouth. Warmer. Keiji can’t place the tone of it. He shakes his head.

“Well, with all of my smarts, I locked myself out of the building.” Keiji adjusts his bag. “Would you let me in?”

Bokuto fishes around in his sweatshirt pocket for his keys. He unlocks the door when he finds them, and holds it for Keiji. “Why didn’t you just call or text one of us?” he asks, shaking out the umbrella.

“Phone’s dead,” Keiji says brusquely, walking faster. 

Bokuto quickens his pace. “Not having a good day?” He raises a hand, maybe to place it on Keiji’s shoulder, but drops it a second after. He uses it instead to press the elevator button instead. Repeatedly.

Keiji looks at him flatly from the corner of his eye. “Take a wild guess.”

The elevator door groans open, and they step in. Bokuto rocks between the balls and heels of his feet. He’s probably getting antsy, or starting to feel bad. Keiji looks the other way.

The floor indicator above the door tells him they’re on the first floor. 

Bokuto fidgets with his fingers. 

Second floor. 

“Would you like some tea?” Keiji offers. 

Bokuto looks at him, eyebrows raised, then looks back to the metal door in front of them. “I have to shower first. But sure! Yeah. Sure.”

“One yes is enough, Bokuto,” Keiji tells him.

Bokuto clears his throat. “Right. Yeah.”

Keiji ponders the appropriateness of sighing about fifty gajillion times a day. 

One more escapes from his lips, just the elevator door reveals the third floor hallway. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

As soon as Keiji gets into the apartment, he rids himself of his jacket. 

Making his way into his room, he unsticks his shirt from his body. The feeling of wet fabric against his skin is definitely not his favorite sensation. He grimaces. An umbrella really would’ve been nice to have. 

Not that he’s mad at Bokuto. Not really. He’s...He’s something at Bokuto. His feelings are a problem for later, when he has the capacity for confusion. 

He sifts through his dresser drawer, and puts on a blue long sleeve sleep shirt. It’s one he’s had for a while, so it’s stretched to all hell, but it’s comfortable. Pulling on sweatpants, he blinks, feeling something cold hit his eyelash. Right. Wet hair. 

He probably should’ve just taken a quick shower, but he’s already warm, so he just towels off his hair. He’ll have to smell like rainwater for the night. 

Keiji starts the tea kettle on the stove once he’s in the kitchen. He knows that Bokuto doesn’t often take long in the shower, so he sits on the couch and scrolls through his phone, waiting. The steady rhythm of water against the skylight in his kitchen is soothing.

Perhaps mad wouldn’t be the correct term to define what he’s feeling towards Bokuto at the moment. When you’re mad at someone, you don’t invite them over for tea. When you’re mad at someone, you don’t feel bad about the guilt in their eyes at something they had no control over.

Well, a little control. 

The clock ticks, the only sound in gloom caused by the heavy clouds. 

There’s something else, possibly. The reason he was trying not to pay attention to Bokuto’s eyes in the first place. Trying not to pay attention to Bokuto at all. Keiji drags his gaze to the bookshelf in between the couch and the armchair. Books overflow the shelves, collected over years of nonstop reading. Each one tells a different story, even if a lot of them are similar. 

He’s been thinking of this arrangement as a game, each obstacle overcome a way to gain points. Maybe he should have been thinking of the situation as a book. With them as the protagonists, what’s the most cliché thing that can happen at the end of this story? 

He’s reminded of the movie they watched when the power was out. 

_ Cliché in the way that means you know exactly what both protagonists are going to say at any given time.  _

He decides to test this theory. 

If Keiji was the main character of a stereotypical love novel or movie, the next most plausible thing to happen to him would be for Bokuto to knock on the door. Five times, as always. 

Frantic knocking brings his attention to the front door. 

Keiji smirks. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Bokuto rushes in when he opens the door, saying something about how “It’s _cold_ out there, Akaashi!” 

Thoughts continue to bubble unbidden in Keiji’s head, the tickling in your throat of a cough you don’t want to let out for the fear it will bring on an onslaught of more. As he pours the tea, he attempts to gather more pieces of his switched point of view puzzle. Things that Oikawa has said, things that he himself has thought, the fact that no one was surprised when they revealed that they were “dating.” Other than Oikawa, of course. He doesn’t count, though. When it comes to reading people, he has absolutely zero trouble. Definitely something to be mildly afraid of. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

Keiji turns to where Bokuto sits at the dining table, his hand holding up his head. His hair is still wet from his shower, unstyled. Keiji likes it this way, it makes him seem a mellower brand of constantly excited. Really, though, Keiji has found that he likes Bokuto any way. 

_ Not like that,  _ he thinks, the statement reflexive in nature. He reconsiders, then realizes he should probably answer Bokuto. 

“Nothing special.”

Bokuto squints, then lets it go, which is odd. 

“Honey?” Keiji asks, in regards to the tea. Bokuto nods. 

Of course, since the statement is reflexive in nature, it’s almost immediately considered a lie. Since it’s most definitely a lie, Keiji can only sift through the possible truths it could be hiding. 

a. It somehow isn’t a lie, and he’s simply overthinking like always.

b. He’s probably overthinking. 

c. What if Oikawa’s right? That would be hell. 

d. He likes Bokuto. 

He likes Bokuto. He over pours the tea, just a little bit. Reflexes as sharp as ever, he grabs a paper towel off of the rack next to him and wipes it up, ignoring how hot the water is. 

“You sure you’re okay there, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks. 

“I never said I was in the first place, but yes.” Why did he have to have this epiphany now, of all times? His luck is bad. So, so bad. 

Picking up both mugs of tea, he makes his way to the couch. Bokuto follows behind, because one of them is always standing right behind the other. It’s weird that he’s thinking like this now. He feels like he needs to let something go, but at the same time his thoughts feel new, the way he’s staring at the contents of his cup ever so slightly shifted to the right. 

If this is something he can wait out, he’d rather wait it out. Romantic feelings in friendships almost always just make things more convoluted. His own emotions in general are much too complicated to bring into anything other than his head, where they stay. Plus, waiting out a crush, for lack of a better term, has never once been too much of a problem for him. Even if Bokuto is looking over at him, eyes searching, hand fidgeting. He moves them three times before letting them settle by his sides. Keiji decides to focus on one of Bokuto’s fingers, his index. The tip of it is pink from the cold, despite them having been inside for a fair amount of time. Bokuto doesn’t seem to notice. His pathetic way of dealing with chilly weather is endearing, in a way. 

_ Wait it out.  _

God, but should it be this hard? His middle school crushes never ran too deep. His mother used to call them “passing fascinations,” for the term was more fitting than any notion of love. 

This feels different somehow, though. More uncertain. Keiji doesn’t do well with uncertainty. Nobody should, really. He’s always hated adrenaline junkies. 

He thinks about what Oikawa has said to him in the midst of all of this. Everything about ruining friendships and not being able to start over again. Perhaps it has to do with the elusive Iwaizumi Hajime, a name never lingered on, always a tad bitter falling from Oikawa’s lips. Keiji figures it’s really none of his business. 

He doesn’t really want to say Bokuto’s name the same way that Oikawa says Iwaizumi’s. 

Bokuto moves his hands yet again. Keiji’s point of focus is gone, causing him to look up. Bokuto looks like he’s just as lost in thought as Keiji is. the silence that has fallen over them is not expecting or demanding, not awkward. A silence of waiting, the wait for something unknown. 

A breath leaves Bokuto’s mouth, more of a sigh than anything. Keiji’s focus, pulled once again, is now on Bokuto’s mouth. Probably not a good place to focus on. He turns his head to the succulent on his dining table. He has to squint to try to see it so far away. his glasses are in the other room, though he should probably have them on. 

The blurry succulent won’t move, though. He can give his thousand yard stare properly then.

Bokuto is still looking at him, and even with his eyes on the succulent, Keiji can see the question.

_ Can we eat something? _ maybe, or,  _ What are you thinking about?  _ (again.) _ Should we turn the lights off? It’s getting late.  _

“Can I kiss you?” 

Well. Or that. 

Keiji stills. The silence lasts for no more than a moment, but his thoughts seem to expand and collapse all the same. Everything and nothing flits through his mind, all unfinished sentences and incomplete thoughts. 

In a last ditch attempt for security, he scoffs. 

“Is it a fake kiss?”

Bokuto shakes his head, looking right through him with those damn amber eyes. “It’s real, Keiji.”

And then he leans in. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goddamn clichés


	6. breathless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey 🙏🙏

Today is painfully boring. At the same time, it is painfully lively. Lively with Keiji’s thoughts, and nothing else, which is good, because Keiji’s thoughts are more than enough to fill the silence. 

Macaroni and cheese can only do so much to quiet them. 

His phone buzzes on the table. 

_ From: oikawa tooru _

_ 9:36 AM - i’m coming over ;) hope you’re ready for some painting homework!!! _

He  _ should _ probably finish his painting assignment, seeing as it’s due tomorrow. He braces himself for a million questions regarding his clear lack of sleep and clear altogether disheveled-ness. 

_ To: oikawa tooru _

_ 9:37 AM - exactly what i need :| _

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Oikawa’s immediate reaction when Keiji opens the door is to look him up and down, raise an eyebrow, and say, “Something’s up. Bird Brain?”

Keiji groans, pushing Oikawa into the apartment and locking the door behind him, then unlocking it just in case someone needs something and he’s busy being chained to a chair by Oikawa.

He wonders just what god thought it was acceptable to curse him with this omniscient devil of a friend. 

“Didn’t ask to be attacked.” Keiji sighs. 

Oikawa flaps his hand. “I’m not  _ attacking  _ you. I just want to know.”

“You always want to know.”

“Can you blame me? So, what is it? Did he tell you he was madly in love with you? Have you been losing sleep ever since? Did he fake break up with you? Did you find out that you do actually care?”

“None of the above.” Keiji says. “Paints out, now. And at least five minutes of silence.”

“You sound like our professor,” Oikawa mumbles, but gets himself set up anyway. 

In the next five minutes that ensue, Oikawa sends Keiji just about five hundred searching looks. Keiji stubbornly keeps his eyes on his assignment, losing himself in the strokes of paint. 

Much too soon, Oikawa sets his brush down. Softly, he says, “Did he kiss you?”

With a sigh, Keiji turns his head to the ceiling. “What if he did?”

Oikawa looks greatly like he wants to say  _ I told you so _ . With a glare in his general direction, Keiji starts to move his paintbrush again. 

“I think I get it now,” he says. 

“Get what, exactly?”

“Why Kenma and Kuroo are so hesitant. It feels like I just catapulted into a purgatory I do not want to be in.”

Oikawa purses his lips, then opens them to say exactly what Keiji knows he’ll say. 

“I don’t want to hear it, Oikawa.”

“Mhm…” 

“Don’t, Oikawa, don’t, that’s negative, it means do not. Ringing a bell?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” his eyes search the room for something to say. The wind whistles against the window next to them, making the balcony door creak. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Uh,” Keiji says. “Well. I don’t really know.”

“Well we can start with the fact that you like him.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

Oikawa furrows his brow. “You’re telling me you don’t look at him like you’ve never seen dyed hair in your life?”

“Yes? I don’t do that.”

“Okay, well, either way, we can all see it. Remember how you told me that Kenma and Kuroo didn’t question it? That’s awfully telling, you can’t say it isn’t.”

“Hm. Okay, so I like him.”

“God, you're weird. Next, though, do you want to act on the fact that you like him? You’re almost guaranteed a good reaction, since he decided to go all out and kissed you. You kissed back, right?”

Keiji squints. 

“I’ll take that as a yes. Act on it or no?”

“Sure. But breakups.”

“Why are you thinking about breakups?” Oikawa now has a smudge of yellow paint on his chin. Keiji has no idea how it got there. 

“They’re inevitable.”

“Not a hundred percent of the time. Are you saying you’re too unstable to handle a breakup?”

“I’m stable,” Keiji insists. 

“Okay, bud. Do you think real dating Bokuto will be better than fake dating Bokuto?”

“Yes.”

“So what’s holding you back?”

Keiji raises his hand, trying to grasp an answer, but comes up without anything. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Bingo, there you go. Am I awesome or what?”

“The paint on your face is decidedly not awesome.”

Oikawa sighs. “How are you gonna reiterate this whole conversation to him?”

“That’s a problem for a different time. You’re here for painting, so can we  _ please _ paint?”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

Bokuto’s umbrella moves way too much when he walks. It no longer serves the purpose of an umbrella, but an aid in getting whatever excited point he has across to everyone and their mothers. 

Bokuto uses his time as effectively as Keiji’s grandma might use a dating app, but is incredibly determined once something really matters to him. 

Bokuto thinks shorts and a sweatshirt are enough for the snow, and he doesn’t listen when he’s told to come back inside. He gets sick at least 4 times for every winter Keiji has known him. 

Bokuto can explain every bit of lore and every world detail on so many different pieces of media, be it niche or well known. Ask him for a fact on a television series, and he’ll give you three. 

Bokuto gives off light. The sun bows to him, not the other way around. Keiji could compare himself to a cat, considering how often he wants to stretch out and lose himself in Bokuto’s warmth. 

Bokuto laughs like it’s what he lives to do. He’s made for laughter, made for all things joy. 

Bokuto can read Keiji like nobody’s business. Bokuto knows exactly when and where and what, every time. 

And Bokuto can’t hide his feelings for the life of him. Contrast to Keiji, who is apathetic and defensive so much it’s his autopilot. 

Keiji, who likes the way Bokuto moves his umbrella, and likes telling him to bundle up, despite knowing he won’t. Keiji, who enjoys Bokuto’s nerd rants, and knows every bit of lore and every world detail just by association. Keiji, who could listen to Bokuto’s bright laugh for hours. Keiji, who likes comforting Bokuto, who likes that Bokuto comes to him of all people, likes Bokuto. 

Keiji, who may or may not have told him all of those things, and got hugged senseless afterwards. 

His lungs may have been crushed, but he’s the best kind of breathless. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

A murmur from around the corner catches both of their attention. Bokuto starts to walk ahead, but Keiji pulls him back with a linked arm. “I think it’s Kuroo and Kenma,” he whispers. 

Kenma stands with his arms floating by his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Kuroo motions wildly, overcompensating for the space they’re not filling. He has a small package in his hand. 

“He’s doing it!” Bokuto whispers back. “He told me he was gonna confess with a game, he got it early somehow.”

“Interesting.”

Kuroo eventually stops his quiet monologue, nudging the package toward Kenma. 

“Why are they doing this in front of the laundry room, exactly?” Keiji asks. 

“Shh. Appreciate that they’re finally here, at least.”

“Good point.”

Kenma opens the package, with much too much care for a cardboard box, and reveals a small red and yellow box, with the logo of some questing game. Keiji doesn’t recognize it, but Kenma’s eyes light up all the same. He flaps the box a couple of times, emphasizing whatever he’s saying. 

“I guess that’s the package Kuroo was so eager for.”

“Yeah! I forgot to tell you, but it was his whole plan.”

Kuroo nods his head back to his apartment, stepping back. Kenma follows, his face twisted into something genuine. 

“Well,” Bokuto says. “This was kind of all for nothing, huh?”

“I think I definitely helped Kenma along. We also figured other important things out. We should probably stop standing in the hallway.”

“Yeah, probably.”

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

_ From: oikawa tooru _

_ 2:36 PM - how’d it go  _

_ To: oikawa tooru _

_ 2:38 PM - well _

_ To: oikawa tooru _

_ 2:38 PM - thank you for helping me _

_ From: oikawa tooru _

_ 2:38 PM - anytime ;)) _

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

When Kenma knocks his quiet three knocks on the front door, Keiji knows he’s about to get the news. He opens the door, eyebrows raised, to an oversized red hoodie staring back at him. 

Kenma pulls down the hood, and his usual all-seeing eyes come into focus. 

“Hi. I’ve brought my boyfriend with me.”

“And just who would that boyfriend be?”

“That would be me,” Kuroo says, very proudly. 

Bokuto pops up from Keiji’s couch with, “Woo-hoo! Akaashi and I were right. Right, Akaashi?” He wriggles his eyebrows. “Back me up here!”

And for once, Keiji does. 

After all, sometimes, playing along isn't so bad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of an open ending bc i had to go to bed but hope you enjoyed bc bokuaka fake dating so real
> 
> also i probably messed up the spacing on the texts but ignore that asf


End file.
